


Symptoms- Loss of Appetite...

by IMAgentMI



Category: Red vs. Blue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 22:39:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11091387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMAgentMI/pseuds/IMAgentMI
Summary: Grif isn't eating.





	Symptoms- Loss of Appetite...

Simmons set his tray down across from Grif at the mess hall table and removed his helmet, but froze halfway to his seat.  Grif was out of armour, had been gleefully off active duty after being hit by shrapnel, the only unlucky casualty on the last supply run.  But now he sat with his elbows on the table, his face resting in his hands. Simmons stared down at the untouched tray and felt every muscle left in his body tighten at once.  “Grif, what’s wrong?”

Grif’s eyes flicked up at him, the only part of him that moved.  “Hmm?”

“Why aren’t you eating?”  Simmons didn’t wait for a response.  He set his helmet down and made his way around the table and started to sit next to his friend, but once again stopped mid-motion.  Grif still hadn’t moved, but now Simmons could see the glassy, unfocused look in his eyes.  He ripped off one of his gloves, and laid his hand against Grif’s forehead, and found cold sweat.

“What are you--”

Simmons grabbed his helmet from across the table and slammed it on his head.  “Dr. Grey, this is Simmons, do you copy?”  There was a long pause.  “Dr. Grey, do-”

“I’m here.”

“I’m in the mess hall with Grif.  It’s an emergency.  There’s something really wrong with him.”

Next to him, Grif finally began to stir, and Simmons heard him grunt.  “What are y--”

“What is the emergency?”  Grey’s voice was calm, but curious.

Simmons looked straight at his friend, taking in all the little signs that screamed at him.  “He’s not eating and he h--”

“I’ll be right there.”

“Simmons, I’m  _ fine.” _  Grif lifted his head out of his hands finally, turning toward him, but as soon as he started to stand, his lips went completely bloodless and even his dark skin appeared to lighten.  Simmons tried to grab him as Grif’s eyes rolled back, tried to hold him up, but only had time to knock Grif’s tray out of the way as he slumped forward onto the table.  There were shouts of alarm from other tables as food flew, but he couldn’t even hear it. 

“I need help!”  Simmons snaked one arm under Grif’s shoulders, cupping his forehead in his other hand and tried to lift him back to a sitting position.  He looked desperately over at the next table full of wide-eyed Federal soldiers.  “Get the fuck over here and help me!”

A full dozen rose from their seats, but it only took three others to help get Grif sitting up and ease him out from the table to rest on the floor.  They barely had settled him on his back when there were pounding footsteps nearby in the hallway.  Dr. Grey entered, taking only a moment to survey the room before racing to Grif’s side, already pulling on a pair of gloves.  Two soldiers followed her in, wheeling a gurney.  Simmons’ watched Grey as she thumbed open Grif’s eyelids, then laid the back of her hand against his cheek, then looked at the waiting gurney and back.  “You really did believe something was wrong.” 

“Of course. You did, and you know him better than anyone.”  Grey pressed her fingers gently along the side of Grif’s throat, shifting until she found a pulse, and her eyes narrowed.  She began rolling down the waist of Grif’s sweats to check the wound at his hip, and Simmons glared around at the crowd until the soldiers began to back away, splintering off into worried groups that still couldn’t quite bring themselves to leave.  He looked back to find Grey removing a thin layer of gauze that had been taped protectively over the wound.  Under it, the skin was puckered around new stitches - at first Simmons thought it had already begun to heal, but then he saw the angry dark streaks under Grif’s skin.

Dr. Grey quickly replaced the gauze, and motioned to one of the soldiers that had arrived with  her, who hurried over with a folded sheet.  Simmons kneeled down at Grey’s instructions, and together with the two soldiers, they rolled Grif onto his uninjured side, positioned the sheet along the edge of his back before laying him back down, then gently tugging the sheet the rest of the way under him.  Dr. Grey snapped at the remaining gawkers, pulling two out of the crowd and dispersing the rest.  At her command, as a group they lifted Grif onto the gurney, and only paused long enough to check his stitches once more before taking hold of the side and wheeling him briskly away down the hall.  Simmons took the other lead position at Grif’s head opposite Dr. Grey, and was relieved when she didn’t say a word.  

When they arrived at the med wing, the soldiers peeled away and disappeared, replaced by nurses who maneuvered the bed into place before locking the wheels.  Simmons stood back as a nurse strapped a blood pressure cuff around Grif’s arm, and watched as Dr. Grey prepared tubing and a series of vials.  He didn’t move as the cuff was inflated, silently watching as the nurse took down a series of numbers.  Dr. Grey moved forward then, and began swabbing the crook of Grif’s arm.  

He crept forward a step and was emboldened when she looked up, but didn’t tell him to leave.  He cleared his throat.  “Should I stay?”

Dr. Grey’s eyes didn’t leave the clock on the wall.  “Do you want to stay?”

Simmons looked down at his friend.  Grif’s eyes were slightly open, but rolled back into his head so all Simmons could see was white.  A nurse came back to affix a small cap over the tip of Grif’s forefinger, and the air was soon filled with a soft but quick beeping, in time with his heart.  “Does he know I’m here?”

“No.”  The swab was discarded and Dr. Grey readied her needle. 

“Okay.  Good.  Then I’ll stay.”  

Simmons looked away before the needle went in, turned his back while he removed his helmet.  He waited, listening as the doctor and one of the nurses handed vials back and forth.  

“Done.”  

The announcement was for his ears, he knew, and he turned just as Dr. Grey secured a folded piece of gauze over the needle site with a band aid.  A nurse carried the vials into an adjoining room for analysis and Grey gave Simmons a sympathetic look before joining her. 

For the moment alone, Simmons stepped back up to the gurney.  All this time, and Grif still hadn’t moved.  “I’m missing my lunch for you, fat ass.”  He didn’t expect a response, and he didn’t receive one.  “Any time you want to come to, and, you know… stop… scaring the shit out of me...that’d be great.”  Nothing.  Simmons reached out to touch his friend’s shoulder, fought the urge to shake him, and instead started shaking himself.  “Grif?”

Nothing.  Simmons removed his hand, feeling numb.  By the time Dr. Grey returned, he was already seated against the wall, grim-faced, and ready for the long wait ahead. 


End file.
